tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63305781244243861742018-09-16T23:55:58.831-07:00Select.For Harriethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09683917312535044896noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330578124424386174.post-49623646577547715162015-06-01T08:15:00.002-07:002015-09-26T12:10:58.028-07:00Black Women Take the Critics' Choice Awards Red Carpet by Storm<img src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy172/thehlmn/COLOURES/Screen%20Shot%202015-06-01%20at%209.17.21%20AM.png" width="100%" /><br />Last night was a great one for Black women at the Critics' Choice Awards. Taraji P. Henson ("Empire) and Lorraine Toussaint ("Orange is the New Black") took home acting awards, and Dee Rees' "Bessie" was awarded for best TV movie.<br /><br />And of course the women looked incredible.<br /><br /><center><b><span style="font-size: large;">Tracee Ellis Ross</span></b><br /><div class="getty embed image" style="background-color: white; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; max-width: 396px; width: 100%;"><div style="height: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 150% 0px 0px; position: relative; width: 100%;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="594" scrolling="no" src="//embed.gettyimages.com/embed/475499116?et=B8HL4VYcTgNa-ItHXqMJZg&amp;viewMoreLink=on&amp;sig=cZitCi8Q5DxDj7W-pF7XghUShFug4D49XCAOeZyTqbg=&amp;caption=true" style="display: inline-block; height: 100%; left: 0; position: absolute; top: 0; width: 100%;" width="396"></iframe></div><div style="font-size: 11px; margin: 0px;"></div><div style="font-size: 11px; margin: 0px 0px 0px 10px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/475499116" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">View image</a> | <a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">gettyimages.com</a></div></div><br /><div class="getty embed image" style="background-color: white; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue',Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 11px; max-width: 396px; width: 100%;"><div style="height: 0; overflow: hidden; padding: 150.000000% 0 0 0; position: relative; width: 100%;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="594" scrolling="no" src="//embed.gettyimages.com/embed/475499118?et=-GDncP8aScdSVRKT9dRIpw&amp;viewMoreLink=on&amp;sig=vM1Ecz_fclpk3kmX6vsm-e2RsPdxgCW7uXoiwVdU3sI=&amp;caption=true" style="display: inline-block; height: 100%; left: 0; position: absolute; top: 0; width: 100%;" width="396"></iframe></div><div style="margin: 0;"></div><div style="margin: 0 0 0 10px; padding: 0; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/475499118" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">View image</a> | <a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">gettyimages.com</a></div></div><br /><div class="shopsense-widget" data-options="%7B%22columns%22%3A4%2C%22rows%22%3A1%2C%22showBrand%22%3Afalse%2C%22showRetailer%22%3Afalse%2C%22showInfo%22%3Afalse%2C%22showPrice%22%3Atrue%2C%22showSalePrice%22%3Afalse%2C%22size%22%3A130%2C%22pid%22%3A%22uid6736-722856-1%22%2C%22productIds%22%3A%5B466885827%2C474823032%2C465514045%2C460578968%5D%2C%22type%22%3A%7B%22name%22%3A%22Type%20of%20Widget%22%2C%22list%22%3Anull%2C%22model%22%3A%22quicklist%22%7D%7D"><script> !function(doc,s,id){ var e, p; if(!doc.getElementById(id)) { e = doc.createElement(s); e.id = id; p = '//shopsensewidget.shopstyle.com/widget-script.js'; var cb = new Date().getTime(); p += '?cb=' + cb; e.src = p; doc.body.appendChild(e); } if(typeof window.ss_shopsense === 'object'){ if(doc.readyState === 'complete'){ window.ss_shopsense.init(); } } }(document, 'script', 'shopsensewidget-script'); </script> <iframe height="205px" seamless="" src="//shopsensewidget.shopstyle.com/#/?options=%7B%22columns%22%3A4%2C%22rows%22%3A1%2C%22showBrand%22%3Afalse%2C%22showRetailer%22%3Afalse%2C%22showInfo%22%3Afalse%2C%22showPrice%22%3Atrue%2C%22showSalePrice%22%3Afalse%2C%22size%22%3A130%2C%22pid%22%3A%22uid6736-722856-1%22%2C%22productIds%22%3A%5B466885827%2C474823032%2C465514045%2C460578968%5D%2C%22type%22%3A%7B%22name%22%3A%22Type%20of%20Widget%22%2C%22list%22%3Anull%2C%22model%22%3A%22quicklist%22%7D%7D" style="border: 0;" width="640px"></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Taraji P. Henson</b></span><br /><div class="getty embed image" style="background-color: white; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; max-width: 396px; width: 100%;"><div style="height: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 150% 0px 0px; position: relative; width: 100%;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="594" scrolling="no" src="//embed.gettyimages.com/embed/475500438?et=ECZ42yVFSvZDnTlwoC5-AQ&amp;viewMoreLink=on&amp;sig=aCrbmORzYOhPNN84177rAd6FWDTUqJNddYEd8CxU0Po=&amp;caption=true" style="display: inline-block; height: 100%; left: 0; position: absolute; top: 0; width: 100%;" width="396"></iframe></div><div style="font-size: 11px; margin: 0px;"></div><div style="font-size: 11px; margin: 0px 0px 0px 10px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/475500438" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">View image</a> | <a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">gettyimages.com</a></div></div><br /><div class="getty embed image" style="background-color: white; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue',Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 11px; max-width: 396px; width: 100%;"><div style="height: 0; overflow: hidden; padding: 150.000000% 0 0 0; position: relative; width: 100%;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="594" scrolling="no" src="//embed.gettyimages.com/embed/475500464?et=AfHLSOJaTIhLozdpOp1C6g&amp;viewMoreLink=on&amp;sig=pw1urBNXUjPP3Zsjmbs0jV8pYvg10w02s3qT9O7u1wU=&amp;caption=true" style="display: inline-block; height: 100%; left: 0; position: absolute; top: 0; width: 100%;" width="396"></iframe></div><div style="margin: 0;"></div><div style="margin: 0 0 0 10px; padding: 0; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/475500464" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">View image</a> | <a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">gettyimages.com</a></div></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Queen Latifah</b></span><br /><div class="getty embed image" style="background-color: white; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; max-width: 396px; width: 100%;"><div style="height: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 150% 0px 0px; position: relative; width: 100%;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="594" scrolling="no" src="//embed.gettyimages.com/embed/475496990?et=A9-EFHqVQz9H8-sKdf2JKA&amp;viewMoreLink=on&amp;sig=yHnfQY8x58ceMRq-QM7BOtNpvooXP-wEgRA30Q0AmfA=&amp;caption=true" style="display: inline-block; height: 100%; left: 0; position: absolute; top: 0; width: 100%;" width="396"></iframe></div><div style="font-size: 11px; margin: 0px;"></div><div style="font-size: 11px; margin: 0px 0px 0px 10px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/475496990" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">View image</a> | <a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">gettyimages.com</a></div></div><br /><div class="getty embed image" style="background-color: white; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue',Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 11px; max-width: 396px; width: 100%;"><div style="height: 0; overflow: hidden; padding: 150.000000% 0 0 0; position: relative; width: 100%;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="594" scrolling="no" src="//embed.gettyimages.com/embed/475496954?et=QUaU7hqZRwhkmHroZD8XgQ&amp;viewMoreLink=on&amp;sig=hRgOz7dTa0Iq2t78S-EjgnDDpu8ftN2yyIuE1QP1t2Y=&amp;caption=true" style="display: inline-block; height: 100%; left: 0; position: absolute; top: 0; width: 100%;" width="396"></iframe></div><div style="margin: 0;"></div><div style="margin: 0 0 0 10px; padding: 0; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/475496954" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">View image</a> | <a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">gettyimages.com</a></div></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Lorraine Toussaint</b></span><br /><div class="getty embed image" style="background-color: white; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; max-width: 396px; width: 100%;"><div style="height: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 150% 0px 0px; position: relative; width: 100%;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="594" scrolling="no" src="//embed.gettyimages.com/embed/475502084?et=pwLXf103T2NyzCOY7rGYeQ&amp;viewMoreLink=on&amp;sig=VebKeIHfQnXMaK_VbAqqPfquUHsTemVeGNKcqNsDOP8=&amp;caption=true" style="display: inline-block; height: 100%; left: 0; position: absolute; top: 0; width: 100%;" width="396"></iframe></div><div style="font-size: 11px; margin: 0px;"></div><div style="font-size: 11px; margin: 0px 0px 0px 10px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/475502084" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">View image</a> | <a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">gettyimages.com</a></div></div><br /><div class="getty embed image" style="background-color: white; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue',Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 11px; max-width: 396px; width: 100%;"><div style="height: 0; overflow: hidden; padding: 150.000000% 0 0 0; position: relative; width: 100%;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="594" scrolling="no" src="//embed.gettyimages.com/embed/475502060?et=e_m1uUM9Qd51baZClqNEBw&amp;viewMoreLink=on&amp;sig=oqbfPTXNTw6lrIULK4r0uH0NdAvGp8jcS0i9dDGpAHc=&amp;caption=true" style="display: inline-block; height: 100%; left: 0; position: absolute; top: 0; width: 100%;" width="396"></iframe></div><div style="margin: 0;"></div><div style="margin: 0 0 0 10px; padding: 0; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/475502060" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">View image</a> | <a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">gettyimages.com</a></div></div><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Cicely Tyson</b></span><br /><div class="getty embed image" style="background-color: white; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; max-width: 396px; width: 100%;"><div style="height: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 150% 0px 0px; position: relative; width: 100%;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="594" scrolling="no" src="//embed.gettyimages.com/embed/475496634?et=yms4AsuPT1ZVhJcW3aMHCA&amp;viewMoreLink=on&amp;sig=eij0qAKmuPGXA9QgujgefQHYXiali8IBIGkiwS7CWnU=&amp;caption=true" style="display: inline-block; height: 100%; left: 0; position: absolute; top: 0; width: 100%;" width="396"></iframe></div><div style="font-size: 11px; margin: 0px;"></div><div style="font-size: 11px; margin: 0px 0px 0px 10px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/475496634" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">View image</a> | <a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">gettyimages.com</a></div></div><br /><div class="getty embed image" style="background-color: white; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue',Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 11px; max-width: 396px; width: 100%;"><div style="height: 0; overflow: hidden; padding: 150.000000% 0 0 0; position: relative; width: 100%;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="594" scrolling="no" src="//embed.gettyimages.com/embed/475496650?et=dI6P4gCGSmFwB1hm4rSh5g&amp;viewMoreLink=on&amp;sig=ugJ7DVS_odcCcJ5hlgHIRCkuSVpxGCSXYNr6pyw0y2s=&amp;caption=true" style="display: inline-block; height: 100%; left: 0; position: absolute; top: 0; width: 100%;" width="396"></iframe></div><div style="margin: 0;"></div><div style="margin: 0 0 0 10px; padding: 0; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/475496650" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">View image</a> | <a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">gettyimages.com</a></div></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></center><center><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Mel B.</b></span><br /><div class="getty embed image" style="background-color: white; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; max-width: 396px; width: 100%;"><div style="height: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 150% 0px 0px; position: relative; 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if(!doc.getElementById(id)) { e = doc.createElement(s); e.id = id; p = '//shopsensewidget.shopstyle.com/widget-script.js'; var cb = new Date().getTime(); p += '?cb=' + cb; e.src = p; doc.body.appendChild(e); } if(typeof window.ss_shopsense === 'object'){ if(doc.readyState === 'complete'){ window.ss_shopsense.init(); } } }(document, 'script', 'shopsensewidget-script'); </script> <iframe height="205px" seamless="" src="//shopsensewidget.shopstyle.com/#/?options=%7B%22columns%22%3A4%2C%22rows%22%3A1%2C%22showBrand%22%3Afalse%2C%22showRetailer%22%3Afalse%2C%22showInfo%22%3Afalse%2C%22showPrice%22%3Atrue%2C%22showSalePrice%22%3Afalse%2C%22size%22%3A130%2C%22pid%22%3A%22uid6736-722856-1%22%2C%22productIds%22%3A%5B478585188%2C471293908%2C461877768%2C449938803%5D%2C%22type%22%3A%7B%22name%22%3A%22Type%20of%20Widget%22%2C%22list%22%3Anull%2C%22model%22%3A%22quicklist%22%7D%7D" style="border: 0;" width="640px"></iframe></div><br /><b><span style="font-size: large;">Khandi Alexander</span></b><br /><div class="getty embed image" style="background-color: white; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; max-width: 396px; width: 100%;"><div style="height: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 150% 0px 0px; position: relative; width: 100%;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="594" scrolling="no" src="//embed.gettyimages.com/embed/475505092?et=riUwOChJS5lRgHmrPQUqig&amp;viewMoreLink=on&amp;sig=0w4gKMM53z7Do5lNek3mLPVkkid1ESz46WOZUHbNLsQ=&amp;caption=true" style="display: inline-block; height: 100%; left: 0; position: absolute; top: 0; width: 100%;" width="396"></iframe></div><div style="font-size: 11px; margin: 0px;"></div><div style="font-size: 11px; margin: 0px 0px 0px 10px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/475505092" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">View image</a> | <a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">gettyimages.com</a></div></div><br /><div class="getty embed image" style="background-color: white; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue',Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 11px; max-width: 396px; width: 100%;"><div style="height: 0; overflow: hidden; padding: 150.000000% 0 0 0; position: relative; width: 100%;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="594" scrolling="no" src="//embed.gettyimages.com/embed/475505088?et=ev4sUy4lQ7ZzqLg_J5iBqw&amp;viewMoreLink=on&amp;sig=y65uVNUSWyTDDp9CkLrLRVT1Wj2VTWedzOXo-NZq4fM=&amp;caption=true" style="display: inline-block; height: 100%; left: 0; position: absolute; top: 0; width: 100%;" width="396"></iframe></div><div style="margin: 0;"></div><div style="margin: 0 0 0 10px; padding: 0; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/475505088" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">View image</a> | <a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">gettyimages.com</a></div></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Erica Tazel</b></span><br /><div class="getty embed image" style="background-color: white; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; max-width: 396px; width: 100%;"><div style="height: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 150% 0px 0px; position: relative; width: 100%;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="594" scrolling="no" src="//embed.gettyimages.com/embed/475503238?et=J_q4LWm-ToV9Ex9H6k8Vbg&amp;viewMoreLink=on&amp;sig=WC8lyhN9npV84WSIiyyQPll5VLBSqVd1tZaoR9NmQXo=&amp;caption=true" style="display: inline-block; height: 100%; left: 0; position: absolute; top: 0; width: 100%;" width="396"></iframe></div><div style="font-size: 11px; margin: 0px;"></div><div style="font-size: 11px; margin: 0px 0px 0px 10px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/475503238" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">View image</a> | <a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">gettyimages.com</a></div></div><br /><div class="getty embed image" style="background-color: white; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue',Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 11px; max-width: 396px; width: 100%;"><div style="height: 0; overflow: hidden; padding: 150.000000% 0 0 0; position: relative; width: 100%;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="594" scrolling="no" src="//embed.gettyimages.com/embed/475503262?et=pHKLh5S_RltEgji8fsra8Q&amp;viewMoreLink=on&amp;sig=kldZYMRG_YpNdXl62GmfAE54MfR9-6PBO5HF6mllIRM=&amp;caption=true" style="display: inline-block; height: 100%; left: 0; position: absolute; top: 0; width: 100%;" width="396"></iframe></div><div style="margin: 0;"></div><div style="margin: 0 0 0 10px; padding: 0; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/475503262" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">View image</a> | <a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">gettyimages.com</a></div></div><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Aunjanue Ellis</b></span><br /><div class="getty embed image" style="background-color: white; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; max-width: 396px; width: 100%;"><div style="height: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 150% 0px 0px; position: relative; width: 100%;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="594" scrolling="no" src="//embed.gettyimages.com/embed/475502882?et=IbrEI4QhS-5PzZn7_G_Eog&amp;viewMoreLink=on&amp;sig=jo4s20FvsRclkxiBrx_cPe4d5mUL4FHbExiiwLJIpqA=&amp;caption=true" style="display: inline-block; height: 100%; left: 0; position: absolute; top: 0; width: 100%;" width="396"></iframe></div><div style="font-size: 11px; margin: 0px;"></div><div style="font-size: 11px; margin: 0px 0px 0px 10px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/475502882" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">View image</a> | <a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">gettyimages.com</a></div></div><br /><div class="getty embed image" style="background-color: white; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue',Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 11px; max-width: 396px; width: 100%;"><div style="height: 0; overflow: hidden; padding: 150.000000% 0 0 0; position: relative; width: 100%;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="594" scrolling="no" src="//embed.gettyimages.com/embed/475502868?et=QnZj578xRbxbMS6mvW02IQ&amp;viewMoreLink=on&amp;sig=FNeIVe6LLPqgEw_Sk78nGL4e6hr654VnxlBWdms1vFA=&amp;caption=true" style="display: inline-block; height: 100%; left: 0; position: absolute; top: 0; width: 100%;" width="396"></iframe></div><div style="margin: 0;"></div><div style="margin: 0 0 0 10px; padding: 0; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/475502868" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">View image</a> | <a href="http://www.gettyimages.com/" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">gettyimages.com</a></div></div></center>For Harriethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09683917312535044896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330578124424386174.post-53489820217967092372015-06-01T08:12:00.004-07:002015-09-26T12:25:49.881-07:00Whiteness is No Longer The Default in Hollywood<img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m0QptU1OOUw/VWrCYVKnjgI/AAAAAAAACxo/UjHx1GNVlE4/s1600/Bee%2B0531.jpg" width="100%" /><br /><br />If you Google the phrase, “Not just a Black movie,” the results are intriguing. In media coverage for films like Repentance to the patriotic Red Tails, or films like Think Like A Man and Dear White People, someone (whether it be an actor, filmmaker, or review writer) ensures that we, the audience, know this isn’t “just a Black film.”<br /><a name='more'></a><br />When Black faces are at the forefront in Hollywood, this disclaimer is rolled out like a red carpet to welcome viewers of all colors and backgrounds to fill theater seats. On one hand, it’s business: The color Hollywood is most enamored with is green, and a film’s financial success lies heavily on box office pull. On the other, it’s a measure of our humanity—or lack thereof. <br /><br />Can white viewers truly enjoy and relate to a story told by and with Black people? Unless they are offered a disclaimer, it seems like the answer is an absurd no. <br /><br />Michael B. Jordan’s casting as the titular character in The Human Torch (originally depicted in comic books as a White man) has <a href="http://www.ew.com/article/2015/05/22/michael-b-jordan-fantastic-four-race"><b>unleashed the latest firestorm of discussions around race and casting</b></a>. Additionally, <a href="http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/heat-vision/tilda-swinton-talks-join-benedict-798348"><b>Tilda Swinton is in talks to play the Ancient One</b></a> (originally depicted as an Asian man) in Marvel’s upcoming Doctor Strange film. <br /><br />Online commentary for Jordan’s casting have invoked racial slurs as a means to express outrage that a beloved and relatable character has been changed so “drastically.” Online commentary for Swinton’s possible casting leans towards overwhelming defense and celebration of her thespian skills—despite the fact that Tilda Swinton is a white woman, not an Asian man. No one seems particularly worried about not being able to connect with Swinton as the Ancient One, but many white commenters seem to struggle with the concept of seeing a superhero portrayed on screen by someone who clearly does not look like them. <br /><br />Why is the “not just a Black film” card played so frequently? Why must Jordan defend his casting, while white actors are slotted into roles originally intended for people of color without much fuss? Why do Black roles and stories require such an over-explanation to convince white viewers that they belong in the audience? The answer is a flimsy excuse: The myth that white people are unable to connect with and relate to people of color on screen. <br /><br />This disconnect is predicated on a history of Whiteness as the default for humanity—a history that is still upheld in Hollywood today. White people are able to see themselves as lovers, heroes/heroines, plucky underdogs, apocalyptic survivors, and everything in between. They’re able to see these representations, and the possibilities of them, on screen and in their real lives. The image of Whiteness is undeniably human. However, Blackness is not viewed in the same way. Narrow, stereotypical ideas of Black people in society coupled with the same narrow—or otherwise nearly nonexistent—representations of us on screen reinforce the idea of Blackness as other. Breaking through this disconnect requires the ability to see Black people in love, in coming-of-age stories, as part of history, and as victors and heroes. Black people must be seen as beings who think and feel and love and cry and win and lose and live and die like everyone else. <br /><br />One would like to believe that White audiences have the ability to recognize the tapestry of today's society includes Black and other people of color. Thus, mainstream cinema should reflect that. It would be more than wise to think that white audiences can relate to Black actors, characters, and stories without having to equate them as “the Black version” of something white. <br /><br />And surely, white audiences can accept their inherent privilege allows them to take up space in a multitude of areas. A Black Human Torch won’t subtract anything from their lived experience, but it does add enormous value for those of us who want to see ourselves as superheroes too, and who want to see art mimic the world that we live in today. <br /><br />If these assumptions are a stretch, then the onus is on white people to do the necessary work to make them valid. Black people do not and should not have to prove their humanity, on screen or off. <br /><br />It’s time to smash the unspoken rule that has made Whiteness the default setting for humanity. It’s time to stand against Hollywood’s undisputed status quo. We must continue to create the kinds of art and media that speak to us and for us as Black people. It’s also time for Hollywood to realize that we can—and will—require art and media that achieves this. - Bee Quammie<br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Photo: Helga Esteb / Shutterstock / Marvel</i></span><br /><br /><i>Bee Quammie is a Toronto-based healthcare professional, writer, and founder of&nbsp;<a href="http://www.83toinfinity.com/">‘83 To Infinity</a> and <a href="http://www.thebrownsugamama.com/">The Brown Suga Mama</a>. Recognized by Black Enterprise &amp; the Black Canadians Awards for her digital work, Bee aims to live '83 To Infinity's motto: "It's never too late to learn something new, do something new, or be someone new." Follow her on Twitter at<a href="https://twitter.com/BeeSince83"> @BeeSince83</a>. </i> For Harriethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09683917312535044896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330578124424386174.post-20840048670625096452015-04-29T20:45:00.002-07:002015-09-26T12:11:17.350-07:00Why Some of Us Will Not, Cannot, and Do Not Post about Baltimore<img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r9CJPbiwKIw/VUGlsvar-WI/AAAAAAAAA2U/VQWTpQ9qZpQ/s320/Screen%2BShot%2B2015-04-29%2Bat%2B7.05.40%2BPM.png" width="100%"><br /><b>by Kesiena Boom</b><br />The events unfolding in Baltimore at the moment are depressingly familiar: Police officer uses excessive force and kills an unarmed Black person. Black people take peacefully to the streets to express their despair and desire for change. The police escalate the situation. Violence erupts. The media and individuals online express their disgust at the Black protesters. Black people take to social media to report the actual facts as they happen and their personal responses and pain. Rinse and repeat. Another dead body. Another wave of misinformed and racially biased coverage. Another swell of grief. It never ends. <br /><a name='more'></a>In today’s world, when anything of note happens, the place to discuss it is social media. There is a hashtag, a trending topic, a status to be made and shared. The importance of these platforms in situations of civilians versus the state is not to be underestimated. The ability to share information accurately from the frontline, without the filter imposed by authorities is one of the only ways we have to discern the truth. However the ubiquity and constant nature of social media means that it is quite frankly exhausting. It is draining and demoralizing to scroll through reams and reams of the hurt done to our communities by white people, as well as to see the reactions of other white people to this state-sanctioned violence. But many Black people feel that they have a duty to keep posting and to keep engaging and to keep pushing past the deep pit of sickening hopelessness that opens up any time we are reminded that in the eyes of so many, a broken CVS window is worth more sadness and outrage than the broken spine of a young, Black man. <br /><center><script async="" src="//pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js"></script> <!-- For Harriet Sidebar #1 --> <ins class="adsbygoogle" data-ad-client="ca-pub-9450107725766363" data-ad-slot="4674111539" style="display: inline-block; height: 250px; width: 300px;"></ins> <script>(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); </script></center>Some Black folks, however, keep quiet on social media, even when situations reach their peak. This is not a sign of apathy or disinterest. It is not because we just don’t care. It is not complicit silence. It is because we are close to our breaking point. The mental toll of posting about state-sanctioned violence against people of color is monumental. It doesn’t seem to matter how many people peacefully protest online or scream and shout their throats raw in the streets crying for justice, the status quo just keeps rolling. Audre Lorde told us, “Your silence will not protect you.” But neither, it seems, do our voices. On social media we can see smart, passionate Black people like <a href="http://jessehimself.tumblr.com/post/117587601308"><b>Jesse Williams</b></a> destroying racist logic and skewed “facts.” We can see that we are on the side of what is right and what is true... and then we can get engaged in an argument with our racist step-cousin on Facebook and realize that some people don’t care about justice or Black people’s humanity, and it all comes crashing down. It is because we just don’t have the words. How many times can you shout your pain into the abyss of the Internet? How many times can you exclaim that you “can’t believe” what’s happening? How can we possibly have the words to explain in 140 characters the combination of helplessness, hopelessness, frustration, distress, desperation, and anger that is seeping out of us? Words on a screen can’t convey what it's like. So we take our emotions inwards and we sob it out under our blankets and then we carry on. Pain isn’t meant to be a performative emotion. Just because we are not broadcasting it to the world doesn’t mean it’s not there. It is because it makes us feel more helpless, to sit in front of a screen and cry whilst typing out our fury and our fear and to be aware of just how many other Black people feel exactly the same. Talking on social media to other people about how you’re all as scared as each other isn’t comforting. It isn’t soothing to log on and be faced with the visceral emotions of a community living in terror and anguish. At least off-line we can pretend, for a few hours, that it is just us with a sick ache at the back of our throat, that this isn’t reality for us all. It is because once you’ve put the words out there, everyone and their mother wants to discuss it. They want to have a “calm, rational debate,” but all you can do is curse because where is there room for debate? What is there to argue? Racism is alive and well while more and more Black people are not. The end. They want to tell you that, “Not ALL cops…” They want to tell you you’re being unfair to white people. They want to talk about some sanitized MLK quote. They want to roll out their “Black on Black crime” defense. They want to call innocent teenage boys “thugs” who “deserved it.” They want to ignore your pain and the pain of countless Black people so they can assert their white-centered view of the world, in which Black people just aren’t trying hard enough to not get murdered in cold-blood. It is because we choose to discuss these things with the ones we love, in places offline where we feel safe. We choose to talk about them only with other Black people who will not badger us for “links” and “proof” and expect us to spend the little energy we have on educating people on hundreds of years of racial oppression, so that they can see what’s happening in Baltimore didn’t develop overnight. We make the choice to not engage with the circus of social media and its cruelties and its potential for opening us up to abuse. We make the choice to share our despair in person, so that we can hold each other and assure each other. It is because we are protecting ourselves. It takes strength to get out of bed each day as a Black person, knowing that you are one trigger-happy cop away from your name becoming a hashtag. It takes hope to keep going. Supplies of hope are in short supply when there is another name added to the ever growing list of the dead, when you’re still despairingly posting about the last victim of this senseless epidemic of violence. Freddie Gray’s body was barely cold in the ground before <a href="http://thinkprogress.org/justice/2015/04/28/3651971/detroit-ice-agent-shooting-black-man/"><b>Terrence Kellum</b></a> had been shot ten times, in front of his father, in his own home. Sometimes in order to do what we need to do to live and thrive and flourish, we have to take a step back from reality. Disengaging with the horrific patterns of society is a coping mechanism. There is only so much one can say about the perpetual violence done to us before it bores a hole that is never allowed time to heal. <span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo: Drew Angerer / Getty Images</span> <i>Kesiena Boom is a Black lesbian feminist and writer who adores Audre Lorde, sisterhood, and the sociology of sexuality. She is twenty years old. She is a regular contributor at For Harriet and has also written for <a href="http://www.autostraddle.com/author/hellyeswinnie/">Autostraddle.com.</a> You can tweet at her via @KesienaBoom.</i> <br /><center><script async="" src="//pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js"></script> <!-- For Harriet Sidebar #1 --> <ins class="adsbygoogle" data-ad-client="ca-pub-9450107725766363" data-ad-slot="4674111539" style="display: inline-block; height: 250px; width: 300px;"></ins> <script>(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); </script></center>For Harriethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09683917312535044896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330578124424386174.post-30865741829914324292015-04-14T10:37:00.001-07:002015-04-14T10:37:14.077-07:00Kimberly Nichole's Rendition of a Rock Classic Will Stop You In Your Tracks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WKdnCRgkac8/VS1QBpUzSBI/AAAAAAAAA1c/I0ohPvXPwr4/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2015-04-14%2Bat%2B11.34.42%2BAM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WKdnCRgkac8/VS1QBpUzSBI/AAAAAAAAA1c/I0ohPvXPwr4/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2015-04-14%2Bat%2B11.34.42%2BAM.png" height="174" width="320" /></a></div><br />If you haven't been watching this season of The Voice, you've been missing out on Kimberly Nichole's powerhouse vocals. The self-proclaimed rock chick brought down the house on the latest episode with "<a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/house-rising-sun-voice-performance/id985004534?uo=4" target="_blank"><b>House of the Rising Sun</b></a>." <iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/TSRa6F4lhHM" width="100%"></iframe>For Harriethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09683917312535044896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330578124424386174.post-60783770785531514742015-04-14T09:48:00.001-07:002015-09-26T12:11:35.053-07:00I Fear for Our Black Men<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8wXyogy9nzk/VS1Edx-EOoI/AAAAAAAAA1M/RxF0xlaKur4/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2015-04-14%2Bat%2B11.46.01%2BAM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8wXyogy9nzk/VS1Edx-EOoI/AAAAAAAAA1M/RxF0xlaKur4/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2015-04-14%2Bat%2B11.46.01%2BAM.png" height="203" width="320" /></a></div>I’ve always loved black men. The way they walk, their style, the culture they represent, and the beauty reflected through their different hues of brown. I’ve always believed in them. I believe they are more intellectual and creative than society wants to portray them as. I believe their potential for success far outweighs the presumption that they are "dangerous" or "deadbeats."<br /><br />Today, I fear for these men whom I’ve always loved so much.<br /><br />I’ve always had a hard time connecting with the ancestry of African-Americans because I am a Nigerian girl with Nigerian parents, raised in a Nigerian household complete with Pigeon English, fufu, and Naija movies. However, being born and raised in the United States allows me to connect to the experiences that African-Americans have had in this country.<br /><br />Growing up in a predominately white neighborhood afforded me the opportunity to experience racism for myself. Those older white men and women could care less about my Nigerian heritage or the fact that my ancestors and parents didn’t grow up in this country. In their eyes, my two brothers and I were just another set of black kids in their neighborhood; another set of black kids that they preferred would disappear from their well-manicured country club.<br /><br />At 25, I’m married to a black man and—God willing—will have a black son of my own one day. And at 25, in 2015, I fear for my black men every day.<br /><br />I’ve gotten so weary that I won’t even allow my husband to drive to work if he's left his wallet at a friend's house. I’d rather wake up with him at 6:30am and drop him off—just so I know there is no reason for a police officer to see him as anything but a compliant and upstanding citizen.<br /><br />I remember the day I saw the press conference in Ferguson after the death of Michael Brown. I wept. I wept because I knew then this country did not love my black men as I do. I wept because my brothers, cousins, and husband were in danger of being stereotyped, harassed, and even killed because of the color of their skin.<br /><br />And now, after meditating on the deaths of Walter Scott and Eric Harris, I have to ask myself: Who has the answer? Who are we supposed to be looking to for help? Who is going to help our black men escape an undeserving and tragic fate?<br /><br />From what I’ve seen growing up in this country, the black woman has played a significant role in protecting her black man. She has fought verbally and physically for him. She has worked ungodly hours to make sure he attends the best schools. She has placed strict rules on him in order to keep him safe from gang violence, drug dealers, and everything else that threatens his ability to survive and thrive. She has prayed for him while he was away, asking God to help him make it home just one more time.<br /><br />I am a black woman, wanting so badly to protect my black men from harm… but I am finding myself at a loss for solutions. What can we do? As a community, a people, and a nation—what can we do?<br /><br />Police officers aren’t the only ones killing our black men. They are also killing each other. They are also killing themselves. While I recognize there is a larger problem that goes beyond law enforcement and judicial rulings, I can’t refrain from expressing a frustration with our government system.<br /><br />Yes, black men are killing each other. Yes, black men are killing themselves. But if we can’t rely on the structure that has been put in place to keep our nation safe—the system that is supposed to protect us and keep our loved ones alive—then who are we supposed to turn to for safety?<br /><br />The day I wake up and fear my husband may be killed by a police officer because he made a wrong turn or frightened an officer as he reached for his wallet, is the day our system has failed us. And it’s such a real fear. It’s not superficial, nor is it dramatic. The fear I have for my black men is one that cripples and burdens me at night. We can keep them out of gang-infested areas. We can keep drugs from their hands. We can even teach them to be safer as they drive.<br /><br />But how do we teach them to survive the white supremacy and systemic racism built to “maintain order” in our country?<br /><br />I’ve always loved black men. I’ve always believed in them. I will continue to have faith that they can be who they were created to be, despite the stereotypes and criminalization of them that the media continues to portray.<br /><br />I’ve witnessed and interacted with a strong group of individuals who are seeking to make a difference in our society. They have the vigor, drive and willingness to make a change, but I’m still unsure they even know what methods to use. I know that as an individual, I can only do so much. I can only protect my black men to an extent. I have become so burdened by this fear that it has moved me out of my silence.<br /><br />So again, I ask, I plead: Who has the answer? -<b>&nbsp;Ifie Natasha Brandon</b><br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo: Shutterstock</span><br /><br /><i>Ifie Natasha Brandon is a 25-year-old with a passion for writing, women, and truth. Through obtaining her bachelor’s degree in non-profit administration, she discovered her love for rebuilding communities. She is a wife and a soon-to-be mommy of a baby girl.</i>For Harriethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09683917312535044896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330578124424386174.post-18272646948846229672015-04-14T08:21:00.000-07:002015-09-26T12:13:08.256-07:00Being Mara Brock Akil: How One of TV's Top Showrunners Does It All<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Yd0p8EiL7oA/VS0voD_ZhHI/AAAAAAAAA08/7mO408Uh2_k/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2015-04-14%2Bat%2B10.16.40%2BAM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Yd0p8EiL7oA/VS0voD_ZhHI/AAAAAAAAA08/7mO408Uh2_k/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2015-04-14%2Bat%2B10.16.40%2BAM.png" height="196" width="320" /></a></div><div>It’s Friday, about 7 p.m., on a warm March evening in Los Angeles just before spring, and Mara Brock Akil, creator and executive producer of BET’s&nbsp;<i><a href="http://www.bet.com/shows/being-mary-jane.html">Being Mary Jane</a></i>&nbsp;and&nbsp;<i><a href="http://www.bet.com/shows/the-game.html">The Game</a></i>&nbsp;is on the phone for her interview. She’s sitting in her car in front of her house with bags of Chinese food in the passenger seat.<br /><br />“The reason I didn’t walk into the house is because I’m learning to multitask in the present,” explains the 44-year-old wife (to director and producing partner, Salim Akil, 50) and mother of two elementary school-aged sons, Yasin and Nasir. “So when I walk through the threshold, I’m not the showrunner doing a press call. I’m mommy.”<br /><br />If you thought the multi-layered characters she creates for TV had a lot going on, the time-flexing showrunner says she’s also had to learn to compartmentalize every part of her life in order to be effective on and off set, and at home.<br /><br />“When I am in the writer’s room, I am a writer. If I’m at the office, I am a producer, and if that’s just for an hour, then there’s an hour of that,” she says. “That’s how I’ve been able to do it, and not all at once.<br /><br />“And my poor assistants, they have to help me manage all aspects of my life,” she continues, with a laugh. “I have a personal assistant and nanny who helps me with my kids, and an assistant that really manages my calendar so I’m always where I need to be. Then I have one who works with Claire Brown, who runs our company (<a href="http://akilproductions.com/"><b>Akil Productions</b></a>), and he makes sure that no balls are dropped between here and Atlanta (where both&nbsp;<i>Mary Jane</i>&nbsp;and&nbsp;<i>The Game</i>&nbsp;are shot). He’s the bridge for everybody to get to me in Atlanta. So I also have to compartmentalize my assistants.”<br /><br />Along the way, she admits, some balls do get dropped in the juggle, including spending time with her mother and her girlfriends. So she’s gotten creative. “Like, I’m a big supporter of&nbsp;<a href="http://www.girlsinc.org/"><b>Girls Inc.</b></a>,” she says, “and so what I’ve started to do, I’ll say, ‘Okay, I want to buy a table,’ which I would want to do anyway to support the charity. Then I’ll invite all my friends, so we can support a charity and see each other at the same time.”<br /><br />Between school functions, Hollywood events, speaking engagements, and serving on various boards, being Mara Brock Akil means doing it all nearly ‘round-the-clock. Here she gives us a peek into a day in her life, as told to For Harriet contributor Janice Rhoshalle Littlejohn.<br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Morning</b></span><br /><b><br /></b> <b>6:00 a.m.:</b>&nbsp;I wake up in the morning, and I’m going to be really honest, if Salim’s home then I’m wife,” she giggles, “and I don’t mean to be like, TMI, but I make sure I connect with my husband. And then I get out of bed and become mom. I make a hot breakfast. I make lunch. It makes me feel like I am a present mom.<br /><br /><b>7:25 a.m.:</b>&nbsp;I take the kids to school, and sometimes Salim and I both do it.<br /><br /><b>8:30 a.m.:</b>&nbsp;We’ll get a tea and go for a hike. Anything I need to talk with Salim about business-wise or creatively will come out that way. If I work out by myself, my workouts (with trainer Jeanette Jenkins or at SoulCycle) really do help me get into a creative zone for what I need to do that day.<br /><br /><b>9:30 a.m.:</b>&nbsp;I’m always showering at the gym. It’s a luxury to shower in my own shower, because I’m always showering someplace else.<br /><h3>Afternoon/Evening</h3><b>10:30/11:00 a.m.:</b>&nbsp;Tea and a light breakfast at work, either in Century City at BET, or if I’m being an artist, I’ll work up at The Loft or at&nbsp;<a href="http://www.sohohousewh.com/">SoHo House</a>&nbsp;where I can eat a nice yummy meal off real plates. But if I have to edit, or if I have to be in the office, I’ll be in Century City and just burn out the day doing all of that sort of stuff and have lunch while I’m working.<br /><h3>Nighttime</h3><b>7:00 p.m.:&nbsp;</b>I’ll try to get home before my kids go to bed, but I don’t always make it. But if they’re awake, then I try to be present with them and spend time with my kids, put them to bed.<br /><br /><b>9:00 p.m.:</b>&nbsp;Once I’ve wrapped from that, I might have to go back to work from about 9 p.m. to 1 a.m., and then I’m back up at 6 a.m.<br /><h3>Weekends</h3>I have catch-up sleep on Saturdays ‘til about 9, and I might find the time to enjoy a nap on Sundays. Now that my kids are older I can get away with that a little bit more. And I’ve learned how to use my time really wisely on airplanes and either I can burn through emails that I’m behind on, or do some work or some reading.<br /><br />I’m starting to accept, like for my whole life I’ve always felt like I have a paper due. I never really feel like I don’t have to do anything. The first time I did that was this summer in August, I just didn’t work. I read books and things of that nature, and it was really wonderful.”<br /><br /><b>BET’s Being Mary Jane wraps its third season with a two-hour finale on April 14 at 9pm ET/8pm CT. -&nbsp;Janice Rhoshalle Littlejohn</b><br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo provided by Ms. Brock Akil.</span><br /><br /><i>Janice Rhoshalle Littlejohn is a journalist, author, and film artist. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram @janicerhoshalle.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div>For Harriethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09683917312535044896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330578124424386174.post-11832711389031049542015-04-13T17:05:00.000-07:002015-09-26T12:16:06.978-07:00Changing the Beauty Standard: <img border="0" src="https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2F1.bp.blogspot.com%2F-rS9XxTJwa_s%2FVSspt-8YwyI%2FAAAAAAAACNk%2F9wadpQfcWbg%2Fs1600%2Fimnoangel.jpg&amp;container=blogger&amp;gadget=a&amp;rewriteMime=image%2F*" /><br />It isn’t easy being a “big girl”. Rubbing thighs, finding properly fitted clothing without looking frumpy, and getting in and out of tight spaces are all in a day’s work. (Shall we call these #BigGirlProblems?)<br /><br />I’ve gone through the battle and lived much of my life being overweight. My sister and I often joked about our two-person crew, The Big Girls Club. I was the captain. She would soon abandon me, so in college I decided to give-up the captainship. I curbed my eating and gained control over my weight. Today I am deemed a “normal” size by society’s standards, though I still struggle to mentally disassociate myself with my previously plump past life. <br /><br />For a very long time, I correlated one’s weight with their worth. In my eyes the two practically went hand-in-hand, especially as a teenager. The slimmer girls in high school got the boyfriends, because they were seen as desirable and always had many, many suitors. Of course, as a teen, this was a big deal. Most girls in high school want a boyfriend and the “normal”-sized girls achieved this goal, so I understood them to be more worthy. This notion was damaging and it followed me into college—and to some extent, still lingers in my psyche.<br /><br />The problem was that I didn’t see the BBW (AKA Big Beautiful Women) as a sought-after archetype that got Prince Charming. Rather, she was an understudy—or a supporting character at best. The heavy friend was “cute in the face and thick in the waist.” But very seldom was she the number one draft pick. In the mainstream media, this perception was consistent. Full-figured women weren’t deemed sexy vixens. In television, they were often comedic or maternal (if not both), fully covered or outrageously dressed. Plus-sized women were certainly not depicted to be physically aspirational; my goal wasn’t to look like any particular plus-sized woman.<br /><br />Fast-forward a decade and so many things have changed, as evidenced with the new #ImNoAngel advertising campaign.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.cnn.com/2015/04/07/living/lane-bryant-im-no-angel-feat/"><b>#ImNoAngel is a high-profile campaign</b></a> launched by Lane Bryant last week. Its intention is to promote their Cacique line of lingerie while celebrating and encouraging body diversity of plus-size women, including plus-size women of color. (Victoria Lee and Marquita Pring, we see you!) As a woman of color, I value these models’ super-visible presence in the campaign.<br /><br />I am absolutely elated to see a diverse group of full-figured women wearing lingerie on billboards and in subway car ads. My immediate response seeing these ads? You betta werk! I can relate to these women. This is how a great number women actually look, as compared to the normalized images of super-thin models we’ve gotten used to.<br /><br />Lane Bryant’s models seem authentic and bold. Larger women have long been told to cover up by mainstream media. When I was plus-sized, I never wore a two-piece bathing suit. The idea terrified me. I was caught-up with the idea of exposing my thick arms, not to mention my stomach. Wearing a bikini wasn’t a viable option in my mind; in part because I didn’t see many larger women exposing themselves. The lumps and bumps were real, and I was uncomfortable. Part of this insecurity was because I was comparing myself to a totally disparate standard of beauty.<br /><br />The #ImNoAngel campaign is a call to action, a statement that defies convention and says that what is considered “sexy” isn’t exclusively reserved for Victoria’s Secret models. Finding perfection in the physical form is unrealistic; it ain’t happening. So why do we still hold onto the super-slim swimsuit or lingerie model depicted in magazines and on billboards as being nearly perfect?<br /><br />On the contrary, #ImNoAngel encourages full-figured women to have a sense of pride in their physical appearance. This is about redefining what it means to be beautiful and sexy. It is about empowering women that don’t fit the narrow standard. This campaign is absolutely necessary and I am wholeheartedly here for it.<br /><br />As expected, the high-profile campaign has <b><a href="http://www.ndtv.com/offbeat/skinny-shaming-or-redefining-body-standards-im-no-angel-campaign-heats-up-social-media-753928" target="_blank">stirred-up some controversy on social media</a>.</b> (Haters gonna hate.) What some don't seem to understand is that #ImNoAngel isn’t about tearing down thin women or aimed at making anyone feel inferior. It’s not about skinny-shaming. But the fact is, slim women, this isn’t about you. This campaign is about obliterating a long-standing and completely skewed notion of beauty. This is Lane Bryant’s way of saying that women of all sizes can be desirable and sexy, and hoping the mainstream media can evolve to reflect this bold and daring notion of beauty, too.<br /><br />Decades from now, I can only hope that my 5-year-old niece grows up to be a woman that is proud of how she looks, regardless of her size. And if she is a full-figured woman, I hope she always feel worthy because the “big girl” narrative has changed.<br /><br />We are now included within the standard of beauty. <b>- Felice León</b><br /><div><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo: Promotional image from Lane Bryant's #ImNoAngel campaign</span><br /><br /><i>Felice León is a regular contributor to For Harriet.</i><br /><br />For Harriethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09683917312535044896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330578124424386174.post-28938875357556133012015-04-13T06:45:00.000-07:002015-09-26T12:16:23.970-07:00Is My Living in Vain?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8cVLXzqKzeo/VSvHt1AbJwI/AAAAAAAAAzg/x5AFsyudN-4/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2015-04-13%2Bat%2B8.38.45%2BAM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8cVLXzqKzeo/VSvHt1AbJwI/AAAAAAAAAzg/x5AFsyudN-4/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2015-04-13%2Bat%2B8.38.45%2BAM.png" height="199" width="320" /></a></div><b><br /></b> Please stop sharing videos and photos of dead Black bodies.<br /><br />It is making us sick, triggering anxiety attacks, sending us into depression, and causing us to question the point of it all.<br /><br />Last week, 148 students were killed in Nairobi, Kenya. Rather than reflecting on&nbsp;<a href="http://www.smh.com.au/world/147notjustanumber-the-faces-of-the-kenyan-university-massacre-victims-20150409-1mh7xo.html">their lives</a>, I saw people share a triggering photo of their lifeless bodies on the floor of a courtyard at their university. I was sick, but I couldn’t escape the image.<br /><br />This week,&nbsp;<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2015/04/09/opinion/the-walter-scott-murder.html?_r=1">a video was released</a>&nbsp;of Walter Scott being brutally shot eight times in the back (in broad daylight) as he ran away from white police officer Michael Slager in North Charleston, South Carolina. How do I know the particulars of this story? Because people insisted on sharing the actual video that was used to charge Slager with murder across social media. As much as I tried to turn away, Facebook’s auto-start function meant I could not control when or how the video is displayed. So on the night the video went viral, I turned off my phone and slept for 10 hours.<br /><br />I had to check out because I am not a “Strong Black Woman.” I bleed. I cry. I hurt. I am reminded of the timeless words of Joan Morgan in her classic,&nbsp;<i>When Chickenheads Come Home to Roost</i>:<br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">The original ‘STRONGBLACKWOMAN’ and her alleged ‘super strength’ was a myth created by whites to rationalize their brutality.</blockquote>There is no rational explanation for police brutality. There is also no rational reason for bombarding people with images that might send them into dangerous mental spaces. I have asked friends on my social media pages to stop sharing these violent photos and videos.<br /><br />Yes, we have a right to film the police. The way power is set up, the oppressed need tangible evidence of their own oppression… right? This is why we ask rape survivors to “prove” their assaults. This is why we ask the poor to “prove” their poverty. This is why we ask the undocumented to “prove” their worthiness for citizenship.<br /><br />That’s the problem.<br /><br />I’m waiting for the people who police my bikini photos and turn-up videos to also say something against the sharing of violent images. This is perhaps the one time the logic behind “everything doesn’t need to be posted for the world to see” is fair. The choice to post videos of brutal killings and beatings is an infringement upon my health and the health of many others.<br /><br />Black women know the stakes, but people keep insisting we stick our fingers in Jesus’ wounds to be convinced he was actually crucified. Even after I tell people it makes me sick, they insist we need to keep sharing these videos. They argue that we need to remind this loosely-defined “them” of how sick it is. I keep hearing the infantilizing refrain: “If we don’t share these photos, then they won’t believe us.”<br /><br />I am consistently taken on a guilt trip by the most aggressive sharers about watching things that hurt me, staying in places that are toxic, and proving that I’m “down” or “woke” enough for the movement. I can’t do that anymore.<br /><br />I demand rest. I demand humanity. Exhaustion, exasperation, and trauma are human experiences. Let me have them.<br /><br />As a sister, daughter, teacher, friend, activist, student, writer, babysitter, and tutor, I have to voice that my neck is being stepped on. I simply cannot hold the pain and trauma of everyone.<br /><br />When we ask you not to share these graphic videos, take us seriously. We are not asking you to stop sharing because we are weak. We are not asking you to stop sharing because we want to pretend that the world is all sunshine and rainbows. In fact, if anyone knows that life in this world is hard for Black folks, it is Black women.<br /><br />It makes me wonder what the Clark Sisters were really getting at when they sang, “Is my&nbsp;<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pWtrpuPHDcM">labor</a>&nbsp;in vain?” When the statistics suggest that every&nbsp;<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/charlene-carruthers/every-28-hours_b_6226490.html">28 hours</a>&nbsp;a Black person is killed by state violence, I wonder about both meanings of the word “labor.”<br /><br />Firstly, is our work towards the cause of justice in vain? All the conference calls, the signs, the protests, the demonstrations, the die-ins, the late night organizing, the sleepless nights, the stress, the requests for extensions, the meetings—are these all in vain? Is the work for nothing?<br /><br />I refuse to believe so.<br /><br />But as Black women, there’s a larger question about “labor”: Is our childbirth in vain? Is our bringing children into this world in vain? Is it for nothing? I don’t have children, so I don’t pretend to understand the pain Black mothers experience. I will say that my experience in justice work has made me seriously reconsider my once solid plans of bringing children&nbsp;<a href="http://thinkprogress.org/health/2014/08/14/3471149/police-brutality-reproductive-justice/">into this world</a>. Is the labor for nothing?<br /><br />I refuse to believe so. It can’t be.<br /><br />The trauma will hit all of us in different ways, I understand. But your sisters need you to stop sharing videos and photos in which lifeless Black bodies are displayed without concern for how we might be seeing them. Because there are some of us who just cannot bear to ask the question any more:<br /><br /><b>Is my living in vain? - Candace Simpson</b><br /><div><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo: Shutterstock</span><br /><br /><i>Candace Simpson is a Brooklyn native and a seminary student. You can follow her tweets at @CandyCornball.</i>For Harriethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09683917312535044896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330578124424386174.post-41875409063411214082015-04-12T08:57:00.000-07:002015-04-13T19:57:55.070-07:00Sick, Tired, and Hopeless: Accepting the Racial Realities of Being Black in America<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QoiCY1LHRAc/VSqUrcs5cYI/AAAAAAAAAxM/CFyGUDaCIxA/s1600/shutterstock_215877577.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QoiCY1LHRAc/VSqUrcs5cYI/AAAAAAAAAxM/CFyGUDaCIxA/s1600/shutterstock_215877577.jpg" height="254" width="320" /></a></div><br />I can no longer witness the senseless murder of people of color by the police without breaking down in tears. The&nbsp;<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2015/04/09/opinion/the-walter-scott-murder.html?_r=0" target="_blank"><b>recently released video</b></a>&nbsp;that captured 50-year-old Walter Scott being shot in his back eight times as he attempted to run away from white police officer Michael Slager in North Charleston, South Carolina leaves me on the verge of constant emotional breakdown. My stomach tightens with the thought<b>&nbsp;</b>that this man was gunned down in broad daylight and left to die face-down, hands handcuffed behind his back. My jaw clenches in anger at the thought of the thousands of people who will rush to defend the officer who committed this heinous offense, many of whom will raise money to support his “cause”.<br /><br />As I sit writing this piece in a public space, others look on inquisitively as my tears stream down my face and land on my keyboard. The emotional toll America’s racial inequality and discrimination have taken on me is undeniable. At times, I feel more than just depressed; I feel hopeless. Sadly, that hopelessness cannot be defeated with intellectual persuasion. As a 25-year-old Black woman, both my experiences and studies have taught me that my position in American society may never truly be elevated. Black people will forever remain second-class citizens in the United States of America, denied our basic human and civil rights—like the right to survive encounters with the police.<br /><br />I often fear that I may not have the emotional or mental fortitude to challenge that assertion.<br /><br />My family immigrated to this country when I was four years old. By the time I became of age to enter the school system, I was quickly indoctrinated into an ideology that preached equality for all. America was the land of the free. I was taught that despite the history of genocide, slavery and legalized institutional racism under Jim Crow, the inalienable "rights" touted in the Constitution would extend to me, because my Black ancestors fought hard and gave their lives for my freedom. This “logic” was supported by the fact that people who look like me were no longer slaves and our ability to freely enter spaces that were no longer divided between "White" and "Black" without fear of retribution or repercussion. This freedom was further seemingly upheld during my daily recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance, which promised a land "indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."<br /><br />However, my own experiences in this country have revealed a different truth.<br /><br />"Mom, why am I the only Black kid in my AP biology class?" I questioned my mother one night over dinner. I wanted her to explain to me why all of my friends (who happened to be Black or Latino) were in classes labeled “remedial,” while I sat amongst mostly white peers in higher level or honors classes. She shook her head and sucked her teeth—a gesture of support—but didn't offer a word of insight.<br /><br />It wasn’t that she was trying to avoid ruminating on how our educational system was built to fail people who look like me. In fact, my mother was a woman who never minced her words. Instead, she offered her own experience with racism.<br /><br />"One of my dying patients told me not to touch her with my nigger hands," she recalled after a long hospice shift as a nurse. This was meant to serve as warning to her three children that racism was still alive and well.<br /><br />"Well-to-do white people don't even know Black people exist but to do their chores," she explained, a lesson learned from her early experiences as a nanny when she first came to the country.<br /><br />In that particular instance, as we sat by the dinner table, she just didn't have the energy to dissect the complexities of America's racially stratified and segregated school system. She had enough to deal with as a single, working-class parent of three children. Between tirelessly working night and day shifts, moving from state to state in search of good educational and work opportunities, and avoiding "bad" neighborhoods rampant with drugs and gun violence, there simply was not enough time to invest in deconstructing the matter. All she could offer was condolences and understanding. And all I could do was bare witness. In time, my mother’s and my own experiences began to teach me that the idealized, tolerant, accepting America I was educated to believe prevailed was more of a figment of our forefather’s imagination than the reality for many Americans. I witnessed the fall of the World Trade Center that spurred Islamophobic attacks on Muslim people who were stereotyped as "terrorists". My family was priced out of good neighborhoods as they became gentrified and no longer accessible to people of color. I moved between "good" mostly white schools and "bad" overcrowded ones, which were predominantly populated with students of color. Yet, to some extent, my mental health was still safeguarded all throughout adolescence by naiveté and a “post-racial” ideology that made Barack Obama its spokesperson. Growing into adulthood and going to college allowed me to delve into statistics and studies about racial inequality that tore the shield away.<br /><br />My college education painted a very divided, segregated America: the real America. A country where people of color and white people experience very discrepant realities, despite sharing a common nationality. A country where the wealth and income gaps are deplorable. A country where minority people are often barred from access to proper healthcare or education. A country here the media continues to employ stereotypes that stigmatize people of color, and neighborhoods remain segregated or are quickly becoming gentrified.<br /><br />My education forced me to face the reality that I, and the rest of America, continuously tried to run away from: the insidious, inescapable reality of structural racism. And with this education, I entered adulthood and the working world where I was exposed to the harshest cruelties and truths:<br /><ul><li>Black beauty isn't enough.</li><li>Black opinions are unimportant.</li><li>Black womanhood is to be mocked and degraded.</li><li>Black men are reprobates made for imprisonment.</li><li>Black feelings do not matter.</li><li>Black people exist and have always existed on a financial precipice, on the verge of falling from any kind of stability at any moment.</li><li>Black success hinges on acceptance from a people that view us as inferior.</li><li>Black skin gives reason to fear, kill, and dismiss us as being human.</li><li>Black lives do not matter.</li></ul>And American history tells us nothing will change that.<br /><br />Generation after generation, the vicious cycle of America's racism recreates itself with an unrelenting fury. Stereotypes of Black people who have their roots in antebellum America are only subtly reshaped and constantly redistributed by the modern media. The financial success of Madam C.J. Walker right on the heels of slavery's end looks no different compared to Oprah's modern financial empire, and neither negate the fact that most Black people were and continue to live in poverty. The mass incarceration and disenfranchisement of African-Americans after the Civil Rights Movement looks eerily reminiscent of The Reconstruction era when Black educational and financial gains were eroded by a white supremacy that rallied against us with unfair legal practices and state-supported terrorism. Schools named after Black America's greatest leaders are mostly failing and still segregated. The ghettos created to trap Black people continue to exist. And white ignorance and justification for these atrocities continues to replace true acknowledgement or action.<br /><br />As, the anger, hurt, and resentment continues to rage inside of me—fueled by feelings of inadequacy, disappointment, anger, helplessness, and (strangely)&nbsp;<i>entitlement</i>—I find myself constantly grappling with an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. I have forfeited belief in America's propensity for meaningful, everlasting change. And I emphasize the word entitlement because as a Millennial, I was led to believe that people of color were entitled to full citizenship, to have their rights and humanity respected. It is upon that mistaken foundation I laid my understanding of America and my position in it. Now I must not only deal with the unsettling realities of racism, but I also find myself mourning the loss of the American life which I was promised by a “post-racial” society, but may never have the opportunity to attain. I am too worn to do so while maintaining the guise of full emotional investment in the fight for Black advancement.<br /><br />With every new headline about a police shooting or other racial transgression, I am forced to confront that deep-seated pain. I fear that pain may be my connection to my Blackness, the roots that connect me to my ancestry and history, my burden to carry for the rest of my time on this planet. That it is the reason why Fannie Lou Hamer's statement—"I'm so tired of being sick and tired"—resonates with me so deeply. It speaks to the part of my soul that no longer wants to fight and no longer wants to believe in change, even if the choice to do so will only drown me in hopelessness.<br /><br />I’m still waiting for the rest of America to get sick and tired of its insidious racism. - <b>Tiffanie Drayton</b><br /><div><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo: Shutterstock</span></div><div><br /></div><div><i>Tiffanie Drayton is a writer, journalist, and regular contributor to For Harriet.</i></div>For Harriethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09683917312535044896noreply@blogger.com0